One Tough Cookie (15 page)

"Do I look like the fluffy type?" She was undoing the drawstring on her pants. She stepped out of them to reveal a tiny slash of white silk.

Taylor was peeling foil from around the champagne cork. His hand stopped. "No, but you're definitely my type. Did I tell you I love your, uh, lack of underwear. Do you ever wear a bra?" He took a deep breath and forced his attention back to the champagne bottle. This woman wreaked havoc on his vaunted New York cool.

"No. I exercise instead. Besides I'm not that big." She pulled off her shirt, slipped off her panties, and stepped into the tub, letting a satisfied sigh drift over her lips as she sank into the heated water. A wave of musk merged with steam and wafted upward.

Taylor sucked up some restraint. This was going to be the longest bath of a lifetime. Willow hadn't made one overtly seductive move, and he'd reached his limit just watching her. God knows Dan's bathroom wasn't the most romantic setting in the world, but despite its hundred-watt bulb, peeling paint, loose moldings, and missing tiles, he couldn't think of another place in the world he'd rather be right now. His eyes feasted on her, absorbed her.

"What are you waiting for?" She reached up for the bar of soap.

"I'm not waiting. I'm in a life and death struggle with a champagne cork." When the cork finally gave way, it rocketed to the ceiling before dropping into the tub at Willy's feet. He poured a glass of sparkling liquid for each of them. He handed one to Willy and sat on the edge of the tub, leaning against the wall and letting his long legs stretch out in front of him. He made no move to get undressed.

"Hey, get in here. This is supposed to be a joint effort."

"I thought you'd like to soak a while first. Like I said, it's a small tub. Besides, I want to look at you. I like looking at you. Or didn't you notice?" He drank some champagne and smiled at her, letting his eyes run the length of her. Her body was a patchwork of exposed skin and bubbles. Slick and enticing. He wouldn't last a minute in that tub.

"Suit yourself, but I warn you I'm not a patient woman. I want your life story, remember."

He watched her soap her shoulders, then sink into the deep old tub with a satisfied stretch. When the tips of her breasts peeked through the rapidly disappearing bubbles, he took another drink and shifted his gaze, quelling the urge to dive headfirst into the bathtub and never come up.

He'd never known a woman so at ease with her body. Willy's attitude was a true reflection of her personality, forthright, energetic, and touchingly naive. And though she seemed unaware of it—highly erotic. But no matter how mind-numbing their lovemaking, how much her body trembled at his touch, she held her spirit firmly in check, held back and dug in as though she were defending herself against a mortal enemy.

She lifted some foam from the water's surface and blew it at him. The bubbles popped along his jaw line, and he brushed them away, realizing that for a few moments he'd been looking at her but not seeing her.

"So serious," she chided. "Does that mean you're ready for question and answer period?"

"Give me your best shot. My life's an open book."

"Okay, then." Willy raised her half-empty glass of champagne. "Fill 'er up." When Taylor obliged, she began, "First I want to know about you and Danny."

"That's a pretty open-ended question."

"He says you raised him. True?"

"False. Our mother raised him. I just kind of helped out. He probably feels that way because being older by ten years, I had to take on a bit more responsibility than he did. Like baby-sitting while our mother worked."

"When did you find time to baby-sit? Didn't you have a morning paper route and a job cleaning the drugstore after school? And didn't you start managing your mom's paycheck along with your own when you were fourteen or so?" Willy sipped her champagne and watched Taylor's face turn sober.

"You and Dan have been busy, haven't you?" He shrugged. "So I had a natural financial sense. I used it. Somebody had to."

"Why?"

He gave her a long look. "With all the conversations you and Dan have obviously had, you have to know that we were on our own, that our father cut out when I was twelve."

"That's not how Dan tells it. He says your mom booted him."

Taylor looked at her across his glass. "Depends on your point of view. I'd say she gave him an ultimatum. 'Keep a job or keep away.' And he made his choice. He took off. To wander the world, write
the
great American novel or something like that. He never came back, and never sent a nickel of financial support."

"And you stepped in to fill the gap."

"I did what I thought was right."

"And you still do."

His forehead creased slightly. "And that's a bad thing?"

"No." Willy blew some suds from her nose. "I just mean that in some ways you're exactly as Dan described. Hardworking, organized, responsible, in control—"

"Authoritative, power hungry, demanding." He brought his face closer to hers. "Right?" He'd heard Danny's opinion often enough to recite it verbatim.

Willy couldn't help but laugh. "Right."

"And not a trait on the list that you admire."

"I didn't say that."

"So why did you list them with the same enthusiasm a saint would cite the seven deadly sins. Your body language speaks volumes, Willow." He didn't smile but his amazing green eyes lit with amusement. "And here I thought I was such an admirable guy." He braced himself on the tub, one hand on either side, and leaned toward her. "And while we're on the subject of body language." He smoothed back the damp hair lying against her throat and caressed her neck. "Mine is just itching to speak. Interested?"

"Maybe," she answered. Reaching up to take his face between her hands, she kissed him, ran her tongue along his lower lip. "But I think you'd be much more comfortable in here with me."

She gave one quick tug and with no real grip on the slippery sides of the tub, Taylor was down and under. Water sluiced over the tub's rim to the floor and he came up to the sound of Willy's laughter. He shoved his hair off his face, tried to spit out the bitter taste of soap and musk, and gave her an ominous glare. As ominous as could be managed given the swell of delectable breasts teasing from just below the water.

"You're not an easy woman to seduce. Did you know that? How's a guy supposed to keep his game on and stay cool after damn near being drowned in a bathtub?" He braced both hands on the bottom of the tub and looked down at her, ignoring the hank of wet hair that fell over his forehead.

"I don't like 'cool,' anyway."

"What do you like?"

Willy smoothed his wet hair back and met his eyes, her expression cautious but strangely serious. "I like
you
, good lookin'. I like you a whole lot."

Taylor's smile faded. "And that makes you unhappy."

She didn't answer, instead she twined her fingers in his wet hair and looked at him, her eyes a question mark, as if she were scanning his soul for an answer she already knew she wouldn't like. After a moment, she closed her eyes, let out a labored breath, and leaned her forehead against his.

"What am I going to do about you? This thing that's happening between us, I don't want it. I don't need it. It... scares me. It really does."

"Willy—" He wanted to say the right thing, but first he had to get past the lump lodged in his throat. What she'd said—
I like you
—set him off stride, froze his vocal cords, and morphed him into an tongue-tied boy living his first crush.

She shook her head, put a finger on his mouth. "No. I don't want you to say anything." She gave him a quick, hard kiss and with mercurial swiftness changed the subject. "The water's cold. Let's get out of here."

Taylor moved back and she sprang from the tub as if it had acidified. He followed her out. She was right, the water was cold. But right now it could be cryogenic and he'd still be in a fever.

* * *

Damn. Damn. Damn. Why does he have to be so nice, so much fun, so easy to get along with? And why did he have to have a morning paper route and be every mother's dream of a son? It wasn't fair. Better she concentrate on the man, not the boy. The man was seductive, sexy, and blazingly sure of himself. Everything about him said love me, trust me, depend on me.

Hah!

He was a devil, come to tempt her, test her resolve—with his hard body, expert hands, and those killer green eyes.

She snatched a towel from the rack, hastily tied it around herself, and headed for the bedroom. Less than an hour ago she'd been thinking how she was in control, how it would be just fine when Taylor left for home and she'd be alone again. Now here she was, a hot mess, who'd been so focused on not falling in love she'd been blindsided. Nobody warned her about falling in
like.

She wasn't aware Taylor had entered the room until his arms slipped around her and draw her back to his chest. She lifted her head, then with a sigh leaned back against his shoulder. Through slanted eyes, she saw them both framed in the cracked mirror over Dan's dresser. Taylor's hair was combed back, the soft light coming in from the open bedroom door giving it a gentle gleam. Like her, he was wrapped in a towel. He kissed her shoulder, then lifted his head to see her eyes in the mirror.

"Want to tell me what spooked you?"

She closed her eyes again, debated whether to answer him. She knew what happened to women who exposed their vulnerabilities. Her family was full of them, hurting and alone. But was honesty always vulnerability? She wasn't sure. But because honest was what she was most comfortable with, she answered, "
You
spooked me, Taylor. I'm not sure what I think about this... about us. I'm afraid I can't handle it. I don't want to miss you when you go. Can you understand that?"

He kissed her neck and ran his hands down her sides. "You think too much. I don't want to miss you, either, but I will. You don't have to be afraid of what you feel for me, Willow. I'll never hurt you." His hands retraced their path upward, softly molding themselves over her breasts, then coming to rest at the knot holding her towel.

Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.
The thought skimmed across her mind but couldn't fight the sensuous magic of his hands.

He undid the knot in her towel and pulled it away. Again their eyes met in the ancient mirror, hers wide, touched by passion and a trace of fear, his sure, darkened with desire and promise. There were to be no more games.

His hands cupped her breasts, and as he watched her face, his fingers played sexual havoc with her nipples. Her breath labored for release, and she clasped his hands, drawing them closer, tighter.

He dropped his head to her shoulder, and nipped the cords of her neck, her ear lobe. One hand rubbed downward to the moist heat at the juncture of her legs. His fingers stroked, caressed, urged her body to ease and open. His breath was hot and rasping across her skin. "I want you, Willy. I need you."

A need every sinew, muscle, and fiber in her body poised to satisfy, even as it shut down her brain, her incessant thinking.

He was her lover and he wanted her. It was enough.

It was everything.

* * *

Restless and edgy, Taylor padded barefoot to the kitchen.

He'd always known his own mind and he knew it now—without doubt. Willow Desmond was part of him. He wanted her in his life to stay, but the lady still had serious reservations. If he'd thought making love to her would bind her to him, he'd been wrong. They were great in bed together, but still she held herself back, giving her body yes, but little else. He wanted more.

Small muscles in his groin tightened when the image of her, sprawled across the bed in the next room, formed in his mind. The image also brought a smile. Willy was definitely a bed hog, so they'd need to get one hell of a big bed.

You're getting a bit ahead of yourself, Monroe. Right now the lady's commitment to you is minus zero—like it is to everything else in her nomadic life.

And what stuck in his head like a burr was that he had no clear idea how to change that.

He opened the fridge, got out some bottled water.

Not ready to go back to bed, he took the water, and went to stand by an open window. It was almost two o'clock, but the lights from the port still colored the night sky above the neighboring buildings. A few seconds later, a pair of soft, strong hands rested on his shoulders, then began a steady, kneading motion.

"Nice," he said, taking a deep breath.

"Can't sleep?" Willy asked, continuing to work her fingers over his taut shoulders.

"Not when a certain blonde takes up all the bed." She ran her fingers up through his hair, and he rolled his head back into her hands. God, it felt good.

"Sorry, I'm used to sleeping alone. Sharing is new to me." She massaged his shoulders, his lower neck.

"No problem." He closed his eyes briefly. "Where did you learn to do that? It feels terrific."

"Japan. If you're a good boy, one day I'll give you the full treatment and stomp around on your back for a while."

He knew she was smiling.

"Sounds painful."

They allowed silence to claim the room as Taylor leaned over the sink and Willy continued to soothe his muscles. He could feel her thumbs working out the knot at the base of his neck. When the massage evolved into a caress, he turned to face her. Taking her face in his hands, he searched it. He could see the desire in her eyes and felt his chest expand, his heartbeat quicken. Would the wanting for this woman never stop? He steeled himself.
Down boy,
he told himself and ran his hands down her arms to her elbows. He planned to let go but couldn't. She looked at him quizzically.

"Just how many countries have you been in?"

"You want to talk geography? Now?" She ran her hand palm flat up his chest. He stopped it at his heart and waited for her answer. She lifted one shoulder, then dropped it. "Last count about forty-seven, I guess."

"Is it enough?"

"Enough?" she repeated.